An Unexpected Blessing
by Order and Chaos - Qui Iudicant
Summary: A family of vulpi is given a gift from the most unlikeliest of persons….


A/N: I know I have been falling back on writing TCE, but there are two reasons why I couldn't. One, it is Christmas, and family is over, meaning I can't find a quiet place to write it; and two, it is so much more fun to watch my bro get beat up at Black Ops II by his nephew instead! Anyway, enjoy and leave a review if you like.

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_**An Unexpected Blessing**_

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_**May God give you… For every storm a rainbow, for every tear a smile, for every care a promise and a blessing in each trial. For every problem life sends, a faithful friend to share, for every sigh a sweet song and an answer for each prayer.**_

The bitter wind blew across the frozen landscape as a bent over man, wrapped in what little coverings he could find before setting out, plodded on, carrying a small bundle of sticks. The moon shone brightly above him but its radiance, cheerful on most nights, was eclipsed by the cruel weather; less than a month prior a vast snowstorm descended upon both countryside and city, snowing under everything, trapping the citizens inside their homes, clogging the roads. As the weeks wore on food supplies started to become scarce; and in some areas of the country they had almost gone out. For the rich and well off, it wasn't much hardship except that they had to endure food rationing to survive the cold spell; the middle-classes, especially those who lived in the countryside, shared theirs amongst themselves and so lessened the peril; but for the poor, it was terrible.

Fox McCloud freed one arm to pull his hood more tightly around his freezing ears as he trekked his way home guided by the moonlight, resisting the urge to stop even for a moment. The poor cloak he wore was barely sufficient to cover him, much less keep out the cold; but it did a fair job of shielding his face from the wind, which was a good thing as his ears were the most sensitive part of him. His fur was no longer a bright orange color, but almost white from the frost that clung to him as he trudged through the deep snow. He considered it was his good luck that there were no ice to cut him or he would have collapsed to the ground long before he finished gathering his meager fuel.

_At least I have enough to last us through the night before we freeze to death, _he thought sadly, resisting the tears that welled in his eyes, _but what good will that be if we no longer have a home? _He and his wife Krystal had suffered greatly in this harsh weather; first, the snow and ice had closed up the roads, preventing him from going to work; second, they had little money to pay their landlord, and only had until tomorrow morning before they either paid up or were turned out; and thirdly, they had no food - his last crust he had given to Krystal. They had no one who could help them, for family was far, far away and none of his few friends had the money or the food to spare; and besides, they were trapped by the snowstorm, and very far off.

He shook off the depression that threatened to choke his legs, fought off the desire to stop and let nature take his life away; he was no coward, he was a McCloud and McClouds never gave up, even in the face of overwhelming odds. And besides, not only did he had to take care of Krystal but his newborn son, Marcus.

_Why did she throw away everything just to join herself to me, _he asked, _why risk so much only to lose everything? _Indeed, why? Marcus was only a few days old, doomed to die in this freezing cold when they were finally evicted from the paltry shack they called "home;" and all this for the sake of "love." No, not "love" but lust. _No! _he told himself firmly, _don't think like that. She knew the risks and took them anyway. _He admired her for that, the ability to persevere under hard times (and her audacity). _Besides, _he added almost belatedly, _you were better off when you fell for her. _

Indeed, he once was the proud owner of a bakery that was the best one of his hometown, where hundreds of pies, pastries, cakes, and other mouthwatering delectables were made; even just thinking about it made his stomach growl. He would still have it had Krystal not dropped into his life; and in no way was it _all _her fault, oh no. She was the only daughter of a wealthy merchant who had recently moved into his city, and therefore was very valuable to her middle-aged father who wished to have a son-in-law to carry on the family name, and business, when he was no longer able. Under ordinary circumstances, Fox might have had a chance to court her, and with the sire's permission, wedded. But two things were against that, and they were big ones: one, he wasn't considered amongst the list of possible suitors; and two, they, Krystal's family, were a part of the gentry, which ruled out the first option. And besides, he was no merchant.

In many ways it was Krystal's fault, for she was completely and totally inconsiderate of her father's wishes, a rebel by any other name, and a flighty woman to boot, more girl than she is nowadays. But, ultimately, the blame landed squarely on his shoulders. He knew fully well who she was and what her father wanted for her, and the danger in even approaching her; but she caught his eye one day and from then on he was determined to have her no matter the consequences. And she secretly welcomed his attentions, for she was rendered "untouchable" by nearly every other handsome young man of marriagable age; and she had no wish to be wedded to a suitor of her father's choice, for more reasons than one. In due course they eloped, were married, and kept their affair secret.

But, alas for them, Fate had other plans. Less than a few weeks later, she was found to be with child, _his _child, and in anger her father levied legal action against him; he was promptly thrown in prison. But it was too late for all concerned; no man would want to marry a woman already pregnant with another's child and divorce was out of the question. In rage, her sire turned to the only other person whom he could vent his anger upon and the magistrate condemned Fox to death in accordance with the sire's wishes. But right on the eve of his hanging, Krystal went to Fox, having gotten away from her father, and after bewitching the gaol-keeper escaped with him into the wilds of the countryside.

Now here they were, several months later, destitute and impoverished, dependent upon a cruel landlord for their keep. What a cruel hand Fate had dealt to them: perhaps it was punishment by some benighted preternatural being; or it could be simply be their bad luck. Whatever it was, the future was bleak.

Soon he came to the poor group of dwellings where they lived. It was on the outskirts of the city, being a place for the wretched poor, far away from the middle-class and highborn; but nevertheless protected from the greater fury of the storm thanks to a large forested hill almost directly behind it. Water was provided from a small well, put there by the city-council to keep the poor from using the city-wells, but it was frozen over and the residents had to break the ice each morning to get water. Fox would have gotten his wood from the forest itself had the laws not prohibited such activity - and there was a high fence erected there by the landlord himself, and woe to those who climbed over it.

He made his way through the no longer pristine white path that went through the myriad hovels, his way finally easier by the numerous prints of others who'd gone out for unknown reasons of their own. Most of the huts were dark, the residents fast asleep, but here and there the occasional lighted hut stood out among the rest, showing that there was life still. He passed them, moving towards the end of his journey towards a much smaller hut at the very end of the queue; a tall, forbidding barrier, the fence, rose behind the little hovel, closing out the forest.

Reaching the bare wooden door, in bad repair and just barely holding itself together, he stopped and gazed at it, wondering silently in himself how had this old inanimate piece of wood kept itself together through years and years of neglect, while he, a living, breathing being, was on the verge of despair. He looked at it for a little while, as if trying to find the strength the door held, but a colder gust of wind made its way to his bones, and he went in, stamping off the snow that held on.

"Fox?" the small voice, cracked with hunger, spoke softly from the dark shadows of the poorly furnished room. "Is that you?"

"Yes, it is me, Krys," he answered, grateful that Krystal was still alive (though it was an irrational fear anyway), and went to the small hearth on the other side of the room. Kneeling down, he set the bundle of wood into it, and got to work lighting a spark from the flint-and-steel kit he had taken when they escaped.

"I'm glad that you made it, Fox." Krystal behind him said weakly as he worked on the flame. Finally he got it to catch one of the sticks, and soon a small flame burned, and he took great care in keeping it safe from the wind that would come roaring down the chimney. It was drafty and needed a good cleaning, but otherwise the smoke would escape thanks to that same draft. A little while later it no longer needed his protection from the wind, for it was strong enough to keep burning.

Satisfied, Fox got up and went to where Krystal lay, wrapped up in as many blankets he could get, with little Marcus asleep at her breast. She was no longer the cheerful, red-checked girl he had been bewitched by, nor was she clothed in fine furs to keep warm. Now all that she had was her own body fur, and a few articles of clothing to keep decent; but she still looked as beautiful as ever, even though hunger and hardship had hollowed her face, exposing the cheekbones. Even so, he still loved her. She might not look like the beauty who had destroyed both their lives, but inside there would always be that quieter kind of beauty, birthed through the long months of pregnancy, that helped to keep them together.

He sat down beside her, and enfolded her and Marcus briefly in his arms before releasing them. The little kit shifted as his father's arms went around him, but remained fast asleep. It was a mark of how tired he was that he did not stir at the coldness of his sire's body; but then the tiredness was from hunger, for Krystal's breasts were nearly empty. "So am I," he said, his face flickering in the firelight; the wind was blowing again. "And I am glad you are still here."

"Please, sit by me," she pleaded, but he shook his head.

"No, I am cold, and I don't want to steal your warmth," he replied, drawing away from her, but moving Krystal closer to the fire. She sighed in gratitude, and relaxed in what little heat came from it. Fox smiled behind her, glad that she was happy. "Besides," he added, "I'll warm up right quick."

She said nothing, but leaned back against his broad chest, remembering that fateful night when she'd first lain against it. It had been warm then, lying together on his straw-bed and basking in one another's heat after the lovemaking that produced Marcus months later. How foolish she'd been, running off with such a man. At the time she ignored her father, and broken every single rule in the book of moral conduct; but looking back, she'd realized just how much grief she had caused her sire, how much he had hoped and wanted for her. But the time for reconciling was past, for the roads were choked and she was weak from giving birth to Marcus only a few days before. And the odds were quite against her father accepting his recalcitrant daughter's apology; he'd have her turned out, and her husband killed. And Fox was not one to go back and beg for mercy anyway.

But it was past, and there was the future. They could no longer mend what was broken, not now at least, but they could build a new life if Fate would let them.

Fox leaned over her and kissed her forehead, wishing her a quiet goodnight. She smiled again, knowing that Fox had forgiven her, even if she couldn't forgive herself. "Thank you," she whispered, closing her eyes as sleep came upon her.

Fox said nothing, but stared in the fire's depths, formulating plans for where to go when they left the shack. The little flame crackled on, completely unaware of the circumstances that had produced it; what did it care of the two unfortunate beings who required it of its warmth? It would continue to burn until its fuel had gone out, and then it would die when the last coal was snuffed. Looking into its quiet flames, Fox thought he could see his bakery, and the street that ran by it. He could see himself and Krystal living there happily, with Marcus, a little boy of five, running around with the other children. Unaware of what his daydream was doing to his tired body, his own eyes closed and his head soon rested upon Krystal's.

There came a knock at the door, but Fox did not stir, for he was exhausted by his long, cold journey through the snowy nighttime.

The door eased open, revealing a swirling storm of snow and ice, and two cloaked persons stepped through silently. One walked to the little used table and placed two bundles on it, one larger than the other. Then he began to patch up the various holes in the walls with planks, using a special resin that would hold despite the storm's fury.

The other went to the hearth where Fox, Krystal, and their little son lay sleeping. Kneeling down, he unloaded a bundle of logs - big ones, not paltry sticks - into the fireplace, and then blew on the single coal that remained, stoking it into new flame. When the fire had grown strong he fed it with little sticks until he had a roaring blaze going, and soon the fire caught onto the logs, bathing the room in warm, radiant light.

He stood and turned to leave, his work done, but stopped when he saw how poorly covered and vunerable the three vulpi were, especially the newborn. His heart was aroused with pity, and pulled off his large cloak. As he laid it over them, making sure that Krystal and Marcus had the most of it, the other person, seeing what he did, came over and said softly in his ear: "Sire, you'll freeze on the way back."

The one adressed finished tucking in the corners of the cloak and replied equally quiet, "I can get another, my page. They have need of it more than I do."

"As you wish, Sire, but have mine until we reach home," the other protested.

"No my page. Remember the difficulty you had on the way here? Keep your cloak; I will manage."

"Yes, Sire." The other bowed, acknowledging his superior's words.

"Is everything else done?"

"Yes, Sire."

"Then let us be off. Our work here is done, and remember to follow my steps." So saying, the second man started for the door, while the first one looked down at the slumbering McClouds, who were unaware of their unexpected good fortune. Then he too followed his master to the door, and they left.

Unbeknownst to the McClouds, the smaller of the twin sacks on the table contained enough coins to keep them safely home until the blizzard broke and Fox was able to get work, with some left over. The other had food enough to sustain Krystal, and by default Marcus until the harsh weather faded. To complete the unit there was another, larger stack of logs by the hearth, put there by the one who lit the fire, left for until the cold lifted. This did not happen by accident, for their unknown helpers knew their plight with the landlord, and so helped them with the charity that was absent in the landlord's heart.

Outside, the moon shone down upon the softly lit hut. When the McClouds awoke a few minutes later because of the increased warmth, they never knew who had done this deed, but remembered it forever in their hearts.

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_**Good King Wenceslas -** _**Choir - **(Spotify, YouTube, iTunes) - For Spotify, look up the album _Various Artists - 100 Best Carols_

**Good King Wenceslas looked out  
****On the feast of Stephen,  
****When the snow lay round about,  
****Deep and crisp and even.  
****Brightly shone the moon that night,  
****Tho' the frost was cruel,  
****When a poor man came in sight,  
****Gath'ring winter fuel.**

"**Hither, page, and stand by me.  
****If thou know'st it telling:  
****Yonder peasant, who is he?  
****Where and what his dwelling?"  
**"**Sire, he lives a good league hence,  
****Underneath the mountain,  
****Right against the forest fence  
****By Saint Agnes' fountain."**

"**Bring me flesh, and bring me wine.  
****Bring me pine logs hither.  
****Thou and I will see him dine  
****When we bear them thither."  
****Page and monarch, forth they went,  
****Forth they went together  
****Thro' the rude wind's wild lament  
****And the bitter weather.**

"**Sire, the night is darker now,  
****And the wind blows stronger.  
****Fails my heart, I know not how.  
****I can go no longer."  
**"**Mark my footsteps good, my page,  
****Tread thou in them boldly:  
****Thou shalt find the winter's rage  
****Freeze thy blood less coldly."**

**In his master's step he trod,  
****Where the snow lay dinted.  
****Heat was in the very sod  
****Which the saint had printed.  
**_**Therefore, Christian men, be sure,  
**__**Wealth or rank possessing,  
**__**Ye who now will bless the poor  
**__**Shall yourselves find blessing.**_

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The story I wrote here is based off of the Carol shown above. I had always wondered about how that poor man whom King Wenceslas went to help had ended up being desitute, and so a few days after I'd submitted my Christmas entree in the SF: Christmas One-Shot Contest (around November 25 or 6) I began working on this little AU Star Fox fiction; and as it were, the story popped ready-made into my head, and I completed it in only a few days. It is no accident that I published this on Saint Stephen's Day (December Twenty-Six), for the song's opening line is: "_**Good King Wenceslas looked out on the Feast of** **Stephen.**_" Fitting, isn't it? (Stephen is the first martyr of Christianity, and the Feast of Stephen celebrates his death. His story is recounted in the Book of Acts.)

The Christmas Carol _**Good King Wenceslas **_is based off of a real person, though he was not a king. Duke Wenceslas was born circa 901 A.D. in Bohemia (now the modern-day Czech Republic), and was the first of that name. He was raised as a Christian by his grandmother, Saint Ludmilla, who was killed when the young duke was thirteen in 921 (he had no part in her murder). A few years afterward, in either 924 or 925 A.D., young Wenceslas assumed control of the Bohemian government when his father was killed in battle, and gained the throne at the age of eighteen a year later. After a nine-year reign, in which he ruled justly and humbly, he was assassinated in 935 A.D. in a plot that his brother is supposedly responsible for. The title of "king" was posthumously given to him by the Holy Roman Emperor Otto I.

Wenceslas was very "_exceptionally pious and humble, and a very educated and intelligent young man for his time," _(source: Wikipedia) and this undoubtedly contributed to his later elevation to legend immediately after his death. He was "_the High Middle Ages conceptualization of the _rex justus_, or "righteous king"—that is, a monarch whose power stems mainly from his great piety, as well as from his princely vigor." _The story depicted in the Carol may or may not have happened, but it exemplified the good qualities he is remembered for. (The story I based off of the Carol is, of course, of mine own invention.)

More information can be found at the Wikipedia article "Good King Wenceslas," if you want to read more of the Duke.

Merry Christmas.


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